Life of the Damned
by Velace
Summary: Vampire AU: Emma Swan is not the Savior her son expected her to be, siding with the Evil Queen from the start and keeping secrets from him.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note: **I realise another story only distracts me from writing the ones I already have but I've pretty much given up resisting my whims since I eventually give in to them anyway. This was already posted on tumblr and is now on AO3 so I figure, not adding it here doesn't mean I'm not still writing it.

* * *

Emma doesn't understand why she bothers with the birthday tradition to make a wish, as though there were a single wish that would have any relevance to her life, or half-life, as some would call it. She stopped hoping for any sort of companionship at least eight years ago, knowing that connecting with anyone was meaningless when they would all eventually die and she would be left alone once more.

Being a part of her life is something she wouldn't wish on anyone and one heartbreak had devastated her, she could only imagine what a repeat occurrence would do to her now, now that she possesses the strength to tear the world asunder and an entire army of people just like her, just as capable of wreaking the sort of destruction that would no doubt bring about the Armageddon that humans liked to glorify on a daily basis.

It was one thing to kill the person who hurt you, quite another to take it out on an unassuming, mostly undeserving world.

Not that she had meant to kill him but well, fledglings tend to be rather angry when they're first turned and she hadn't yet mastered her newfound powers, nor the control needed to resist the urges that had seemed insatiable then. There had been something poisonous about his blood though because she was sick for weeks afterwards, she hadn't known that was even possible but it was enough, enough to convince her that it was better to learn control than give in to the animalistic desire for blood and death.

Her mistress had been proud, gloating over how quickly her little pet learned, how talented and skilled she must be in order to tame the wildest of the new stock. Emma sometimes wonders what the woman would feel now, knowing she brought about her own demise by turning Emma into one of them.

Orphans were unpredictable changes, either becoming one of the greatest or foulest of the night's creatures depending on the life they had endured. Emma's own resulted in a fair amount of unresolved anger, yet it was responsible for the strength her mistress had been drawn to, the sole reason she became a recipient of the Curse.

She owed Neal in the strangest of ways.

Had she not gotten sick after draining him, she would have been put down because, at the time, the Council had considered her feral, a risk to their centuries of having remained undetected, thought of as nothing more than mythical beings, an impossibility in a world intent on proving that fantasy often coincides with reality.

But because of the long six months she spent recovering, purging the filthy toxin from her body and surviving an unimaginable amount of blood loss in the process, she had been deemed worthy of a chance and for seven years, she had proven herself repeatedly. That is why, after ending her maker's reign in Boston, the Council had assigned the community to her and she became the youngest mistress among their kind.

As much as her life had changed since her Awakening, it wasn't all that different from being human.

There were exceptions, of course. Such as the fact she no longer ate food, could only travel at night and had a sometimes-endless slew of visitors knocking on her door at what most people would consider asinine hours. She still worked her job as a bounty hunter, still occasionally entertained the pointless activity that is dating, even though anyone she found remotely interesting ended up as one of her meals, only to be discarded with their memory wiped a few hours later.

Which brings her back to the cupcake sitting on her counter, reminding her of how meaningless this was as she would live for hundreds, if not thousands of years, repeating this tedious tradition and for what, to pretend for a few minutes that everything is as it was. Rolling her eyes, she snatches it up but before she can throw it away as she planned, there's an unfamiliar knock at her door.

She glances to the man seated on her couch, an insignificant human underling tasked with performing duties that were considered beneath her and she waves him off when he attempts to stand, tossing the cupcake to him as she rounds the counter and moves to find out who her unexpected visitor is.

Her nose twitches from the scent she picks up a second before she swings open the door, fresh blood that is somehow familiar to her heightened senses and her eyes drop to take in the form of the small boy who stands before her. "Can I help you?" Her eyebrow rises with the question as she wonders why he's staring at her with that ridiculous grin plastered across his face.

"Are you Emma?" He asks, the hope in his voice is too pronounced for her to ignore it and she has the briefest moment where she considers denying it, just to see the expression that replaces the excited one he wears that is beginning to grate on her nerves.

When it passes, she nods in the affirmative and, if possible, his face lights up even more. She frowns when he pushes his way passed into her home and she considers, once more, to do something less than kind by grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and tossing him out but then he starts talking about adoptions and fairy tales and, a feeling of dread pools in her stomach.

"I'm Henry," he finally pauses his rambling to introduce himself and Emma stares blankly down at him, already having connected the dots as he adds. "I'm the son you gave up ten years ago."

She looks to the man still lounging on her couch and tells him to retrieve the car, her commanding tone remaining unchanged as he immediately moves to comply with the order and she turns back to the boy and says, "I need to contact your parents, give me your phone number."

"You can't!" He cries and her head tilts curiously, unused to someone arguing with her after being surrounded by obedient and fearful lapdogs this last year. "Haven't you been listening? She's Evil; she cursed an entire realm and took away everyone's happy endings."

"Kid, this is the real world and the only happy ending a person will find around here is the finale to a nice massage. Now-" she lowers her voice, an unmistakable hint of threat within if he disobeys again. "Give me your phone number."

For a second, it looks like he's about to protest again but then a hint of something enters his eyes and she knows when he hangs his head in feigned resignation that he's up to something. "Fine," he mutters, reciting a number she recognises as belonging to somewhere in Maine.

Returning to the kitchen for her phone, she dials the number and holds the device to her ear as he jumps onto a stool. "She won't come to get me," he says and Emma smirks because if this is what he was trying to hide, then he was in for a shock when her chauffeur knocked on the door.

* * *

The pouting stops abruptly when he catches sight of the limo that awaits them at the curb, his eyes widening with excitement as he looks between her and the man standing beside the car holding the door open. "Get in," Emma says, gesturing for the boy to enter ahead of her and passing the directions she received from Storybrooke's Sheriff to the driver before she slips in beside him.

"You must be loaded." Is the first thing to leave his mouth when the car starts moving and she wonders if perhaps she should have sent him home by himself if this was the kind of conversation she's to expect for the next four hours.

Look out world, we have another Einstein is what her mind suggests as a response but she brushes aside the comment altogether and presses a button on the pad above her head, ignoring his far too enthusiastic approval at there being hidden compartments as one opens to reveal a collection of spirits she has a feeling she'll need to survive this trip without maiming him in the most horrific of ways.

She has significant doubt regarding his insistence that his adoptive mother is some sort of villain from the Disney channel but it never hurt to take precautions, and if that meant she requires a certain level of intoxication to passively deal with him, then so be it.

At the half hour mark, he makes a valiant attempt to fill the silence by babbling on with his theory about the town he lives in and it might have something to do with the fact she's had three glasses of vodka already, but Emma somehow finds herself mildly interested in what he has to say and she had to admit, assuming the kid wasn't thrown into a mental asylum, he would make one hell of a writer when he grows up.

When he talks about his mother, also known as the Evil Queen who he informs her is the Mayor of their little backwater town, she has to stop him from continuing for multiple reasons though mostly because her slight intoxication strengthens her curiosity and she has to ask, "Don't you find it strange? That there is this supposedly great evil, yet there's no explanation for its existence?"

"What do you mean?"

Downing the remaining vodka, Emma places the glass back within the compartment before she leans back against the seat and replies, "I mean that at some point this Queen was a child, a baby who knew nothing of good and evil. Babies just want food, sleep and unconditional love." She almost gags on the last part but manages to stop herself as she notices him studying her expression.

After a moment of consideration, he nods for her to continue and she does. "This storybook you have is clearly missing a lot of information. In my experience, the world isn't black and white like that; you can't condemn someone and label them as evil when you don't know their story. So what I want to know is what's hers?"

"She killed people." He points it out as though he hasn't already done so at least ten times by now and she's sorely tempted to tell him that she has also killed people, likely for much less reason than a Queen and despite that, she doesn't consider herself evil because taking a life is as natural for her as breathing is for him.

"And you think because murder isn't justifiable, that it isn't understandable?" She questions, genuinely curious about his response even though she doesn't wait for one. "What about men who assault their wives? A mother who abuses her children? I realise you're only ten and likely haven't come across people who fit such descriptions, but don't tell me that their victims wouldn't have reason to kill them."

"Well yeah-" he starts but she interrupts him.

"What if she was one of those people? What if throughout her entire life, she had no one who loved her, no one who stood up for her and every day she lived was one full of pain and suffering." She stops then, taking in his thoughtful expression. She knows that it's all too much, that none of these things were something that a child should have to consider and yet, if he wanted to be taken seriously then he needed to think about what he was attempting to accomplish, what it would mean for those involved if his curse _does _exist and she really is this foretold Savior.

She has no intention on staying to find out if it's true or not. If his theory is accurate - which she won't deny it could be, not when she is evidence itself that some tales are more than simple bedtime stories or in her case, fictional erotica for lonely housewives with inattentive husbands – then that means in this town she is only hours from entering, exists a family she spent the better part of her life searching for, a search she stopped two years after conceiving the child that sat beside her and just as he would not understand what she is, neither would they and therein would lie another heartbreak, more fuel for a fire that already burns so bright it's a wonder she remains in control.

* * *

As soon as they pull up to what Emma could only describe as a small mansion, the door to the house opens and she has to do a double take at the woman who appears in the porch light, concluding within seconds that her first thought had been right; the brunette is without a doubt, positively gorgeous and when the driver comes around to her side of the car to open her door, she finds herself hesitant to move.

"That's your mother?" She continues to stare at the woman, her gaze hidden within the darkened confines of the vehicle as he grunts his confirmation.

It becomes obvious to her rather quickly that despite the brunette's appearance, the Mayor had been worried out of her mind and Emma emerges from the car without another word, beckoning for her offspring to follow and shooing the driver who attempts to aid her as though she were a little old lady.

Some days being a mistress among vampires was simply ridiculous.

"Henry!" The boy grumbles something under his breath and Emma flicks the back of his neck before pushing him forward and into the frantic woman who rushes toward them, embracing him as she questions, "What were you thinking?"

"I found my real mom!" He shouts as he pulls away and Emma blinks rapidly at his retreating back, disbelieving of the venom in his voice after their discussion on the way here. She wants to go after him and wring his little neck for speaking that way to his mother, but then the sound of her speaking draws Emma's attention.

"You're Henry's birth mother?" The question is barely more than a broken whisper and only causes the desire to beat some respect into the kid even more appealing as Emma stares into chocolate orbs that shimmer with unshed tears.

"Emma," she answers after the silence stretches a bit too long, reading the brunette as someone who despises unnecessary touching as she resists offering her hand. "Emma Swan."

"Regina Mills," the woman supplies, her composure returning as she straightens her back and raises her chin. Emma watches the transformation with curious amusement, admitting to herself the brunette certainly has the regal bearing that she imagines a Queen would, that she _knows _the Elders maintain as a way to demand reverence from the lessers and she smiles in response.

"I apologise for any inconvenience _my_ son has caused," Regina goes on to state and Emma allows her smile to widen, picking up on the distinct meaning behind the emphasised claim, an action that causes a perfectly sculpted eyebrow to rise. "And I thank you for returning him to me."

There is something off about Emma Swan, Regina thinks and it has nothing to do with the whiff of alcohol she had smelled on her approach, though that did warrant some concern considering her son had been in the woman's care for a good handful of hours. Whatever it is about her, she can't quite put her finger on it and she supposes that is why, after introducing then dismissing Graham and thanking him for his services, she invites the woman in for a drink.

As Emma enters the study and removes her coat to drape across the back of her sofa, Regina's eyes roam appreciatively over the form encased within a finely tailored suit, not missing the way her appraisal is returned similarly when she completes her inspection much sooner than her guest and a small smirk twitches at the corners of her mouth as she moves over to the mantle.

"I hope you don't think it too forward of me," she says as she hands the woman a glass of cider and sits on the opposite side of the sofa. "But what is it that you do, Miss Swan?"

"Not at all." Emma smiles, crossing her legs and setting the glass atop her raised knee as she replies, "I own a number of nightclubs and restaurants all over Massachusetts and, on occasion, I dabble as a Bounty Hunter when normalcy becomes too monotonous."

It isn't a lie, at least not completely.

She does in fact own numerous pieces of real estate due to her leading the Boston Community and she receives a nice tidy profit from each of them, but she spends far more time chasing bounties than she does managing the clubs and she keeps her distance from any kitchens, being the fire hazard waiting to happen that she is. She assumes what the Mayor is really interested in is her monetary worth; which is rather substantial and a fair question when one considers the fact she arrived in a limo, dressed as one would when attending an important event rather than returning a runaway child to his mother.

"Pursuing criminals across the globe sounds like an adventure, though I imagine there is a certain amount of risk involved in such an undertaking," Regina speculates and Emma inclines her head with a faint smile, bringing the glass to her lips as Regina continues. "It must leave little time for more personal things."

Emma can't resist a chuckle at the implication. "If you're concerned that I might decide to stick around to entertain your son's fairy tale fantasy then I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me." In truth, a small part of her does want to remain in the sleepy little town and she likely would until tomorrow night, depending on how much longer it is until the Mayor kicks her out of her house but it had nothing to do with her son and everything to do with said Mayor who she finds... intriguing.

"Fairy tale fantasy?"

Tilting her head with a frown Emma asks, "You aren't aware of his theory regarding your town?" The little interaction she had witnessed earlier outside between mother and son made her assume the boy would have taken every opportunity to accuse the woman of all her crimes, especially considering how quick he had been to share them with Emma who is, by all accounts, a complete stranger.

Regina leans forward to place her drink on the table and when she sits back, she angles her body toward the blonde in an open gesture while resting her arm across the back of the sofa. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're referring to," she admits and Emma pretends to be oblivious of the fact the new position is only part of a mask to hide the woman's discomfort.

Of course, now that she's revealed the reason he came to find her, Emma supposes she has no choice but to barrel onwards. "I assumed that as the villain of the piece, he would have said something to you," she explains and Regina purses her lips while she continues. "He thinks you cursed an entire realm and that the citizens of Storybrooke are fairy tale characters who have forgotten who they are."

"I see." Her voice is stony and Emma notes that her eyes match the tone but instead of retreating, as she believes others likely would at this point, she shakes her head and enjoys another taste of cider before venturing further.

"As I said, I won't be staying and I wouldn't presume to tell you how to raise your son but you may wish to speak to him." She raises her hand when a snarl curls the Mayors lip; the last thing she wants is to upset the woman. "Merely a suggestion if you don't wish a reoccurrence of tonight. I wouldn't be opposed to returning, but I doubt you enjoy panicking when your child is missing."

Her defences soften with Emma's comment and Regina feels herself relaxing as she finds that she is unable to resist once again studying the blonde. She still can't determine what provoked her to invite this woman into her home but with the admittance of wanting to return, she realises it is something she also isn't opposed to.

"Must you leave?"

Brown eyes widen as the question slips unbidden from her lips and she finds her irritation returning as the blonde allows another chuckle to escape, but before she can think of a way to retract the question, Emma drains the last of her drink and stands so suddenly that Regina is left without speech or coherent thought when her eyes land on the woman's backside. It is immediate to her then, that the reason she is drawn to this stranger is because of the attraction she feels in the moment as her eyes wander and her mind wonders what noises the blonde might create were she to sink her teeth into the firm mounds.

The sound of a throat clearing startles Regina from her thoughts and she looks up to find amusement dancing within the emerald depths of Emma's gaze, her cheeks colouring with embarrassment as she averts her eyes when the woman speaks.

"For now, I must." Regina swears rather than sounds meeting her ears, the words are a silken caress against her flesh that sends a shiver through every one of her nerve endings and her heart rate increases tenfold as she closes her eyes and _feels _the rest of Emma's words. "But you are simply too enticing, Madam Mayor, that I doubt I will stay away too long."

And as her eyes flutter open, Regina looks about the room with confusion creasing her brow as the woman is nowhere in sight.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma knows she probably shouldn't have used the voice on her but it had been far too tempting to resist in light of the obvious attraction the woman had been feeling towards her and, as she uses her gifts so rarely as is, she felt the opportunity had been too good to waste. What worries her is the thoughtless way she chose to depart; having made no sound and vanishing without a trace has no doubt put the brunette on high alert.

As she wanders through the mausoleum, she calls to the chauffeur turned impromptu guard who stands just outside. "Richard, contact Victor and tell him I have need of one of his kind."

Being that he can move about during the day, her driver is the only one she can rely on until one of the Brethren arrives to take his place and though she is loath to slumber within this macabre tomb, she thinks the choice more appealing than mesmerizing some hapless human into surrendering their own home, especially when that would likely gain the Mayor's attention if she found one of her citizens living in squalor.

She had taken the stupid route enough times today.

Hearing him mumbling into his phone, she continues her wanderings and as her eyes land on a particular coffin she sighs and mutters, "Crap," as the words **Henry Mills, Beloved Father** glare up at her.

"Let's hope Sunday isn't visit dear old dad day for the Mayor," she says to herself, her fingers tracing the lettering along the plaque.

"Mistress Swan?"

Her head snaps up and she glances over to where Richard stands nervously at the entrance, another sigh leaving her because he still refuses to refer to her by name as she has told him to countless times. "Yes?"

"He said Michael is the closest, he should be here within the next two hours."

"Good." Chewing her lower lip thoughtfully, she considers the pros and cons of remaining in the town longer than she originally intended. While she has very little interest in fairy tales and magical curses, she can't deny that she feels a certain pull when it comes to the brunette. It would be possible for her to conduct business from here with a few calls to the right people, though that did mean she needs somewhere more permanent to reside than this crypt.

* * *

"Hey, Mayor Mills." Regina blinks slowly and lowers the newspaper she had been reading before the rude interruption, her eyebrow raised as she looks to the waitress who remains ignorant of the disturbance she's creating with her irritating babble. "Met the new guy in town yet? He's even better looking than the Sheriff, dresses nice too."

It dawns on her relatively quickly that she must be referring to the man she caught a brief glimpse of last night and she rolls her eyes, sniffing in distaste as she replies, "How fitting that the waitress is attracted to the chauffeur, I can't wait to see the movie that blossoms from your pink collar love affair."

"Huh?"

Rubbing her temple while sighing in annoyance, Regina raises her half-empty cup to the brunette and waits for her to refill it before advising, "He's a limo driver, Ms Lucas and I wouldn't bother if I were you, he'll be gone by the end of the day."

"Uh if you say so." Is the response and Regina's hand pauses in its ministrations as she tilts her head, the question on the tip of her tongue clear in her eyes as the brunette explains, "It's just he came in asking about available housing in the area, seemed like he planned on sticking around is all."

Her lunch now ruined, anger rears its ugly head and Regina growls low in her throat as she stands, her glare directed at the waitress. She knew it had been too easy and that trusting the blonde to keep her word was foolish, she should have forced that woman out of her town the moment she entered it. "Where did you send him?" she demands, indifferent to the way the woman shrinks back at her sudden aggression.

"G-gold," she stutters and Regina sneers at the mention of the imp as she rummages through her purse, tossing a few bills on to the table before she turns and storms out of the diner.

The last thing she needs is some outsider snooping around her town and sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong, least of all the damn birth mother of her son - as if she wasn't having enough trouble with him already. There is no chance in hell that she's going to sit around and do nothing while that woman inserts herself into his life in an attempt to replace a role already filled, more than accurately if she were any judge.

So the blonde bimbo has wealth, dress sense and little helpers she probably rewards with a pat on the head while they pant up at her from their knees on the floor, begging for scraps of attention. The thought stops Regina in her tracks and she glares off into the distance at some undefinable point, seemingly frozen to anyone who happens to wander by as she waits for all those thoughts that follow to pass.

Shaking her head, she mutters something under her breath and continues on, the sharp click of her heels on the pavement helping her to concentrate as she reminds herself that this woman is the enemy and not the very vivid fantasy she had indulged in upon slipping between fine Egyptian cotton last night.

"Where is he?" She demands of the man behind the counter the moment she barges her way into his shop, not even flinching when the door slams hard against the wall and causes the windows to rattle in their frames.

"Well hello to you too." Comes the mocking reply and she seethes as he remains engrossed within the ledger in front of him.

"I swear to all that is-"

"No need for threats, dearie," he interrupts, closing the book as he raises his head and flashes a deceptive smile. "I imagine at this time, he is examining the lovely cabin in the woods that he purchased. You're a few hours too late to prevent the little population increase, I'm afraid."

Regina blinks, confusion taking over her expression as she searches his face for answers that she knows she'll only receive if she asks and after a moment, she does. "Why? Why give them your cabin and why would you allow them to stay in this town?"

He opens his mouth to respond but she glares, snapping her finger at him as she adds, "And don't you dare act as though you have no idea what I'm talking about."

"I think we're passed pretending at this point," he concedes. "But if you think I'm going to reveal my hand so soon, you'll be sorely disappointed, your Majesty."

* * *

Leaning in the doorway of the mausoleum, Emma stares down at the unconscious woman laid across the ground as her fangs retract and she wipes the remnants of blood from the corner of her mouth. "While I do appreciate the snack, please try to refrain from assaulting the town's residents in future," she says warily as she looks to Michael who grins from his perch on one of the headstones.

"She smells weird; besides, she was the one snooping around. Richard said she's a waitress from the diner, seems to have the hots for him." He pauses then adds, "Not that I blame her."

"I sometimes wonder why I like having you around," she says casually, watching as he strolls over to stand beside her. "Then you say something to prove just how gay you are and I remember."

"Says the dyke in the suit," he retorts and she throws her head back with a mock laugh before punching his shoulder.

Looking around them, she frowns after a moment and asks, "Where is our favourite human anyway?"

"Still at the cabin he found for you, said the place needed a-" he raises his hands and hooks his fingers into air quotes as he finishes, "-touch up."

"Right well…" Gesturing to the unconscious woman on the ground, Emma begins walking as she says, "Grab her and show me where this cabin is, then you can convince Richard to stage a sleepover with her to cover your thoughtless ass."

It takes less than ten minutes for them to arrive at their destination and Emma holds up a hand as they draw closer to the voices she had heard upon their approach, remaining within the shadows long enough for her to ascertain who their unexpected guest is and her eyes widen as she realises it is the voice of one pissed off Regina Mills.

"Shit." Spinning to face Michael, she explains, "That's the Mayor. She can't see you lugging around one of the residents, so stay here and I'll send Richard to you."

When he nods, she emerges from the trees and walks up behind the Mayor who has yet to notice her, attention focused solely on Richard whose entire expression is one of immediate relief when he catches sight of her. "Miss Swan, the Mayor here has been looking for you."

"Michael is waiting for you, coward," she informs with a teasing grin as she brushes passed him and into the cabin. After a moment she adds, "Come along, Madam Mayor; I would hate for you to catch a cold while yelling at me from out there."

With a glance, she quickly memorises the room to make it seem as though she's been here previously and wanders over to the corner where Richard has kindly setup a cabinet with a collection of drinks, pouring them each a glass of whiskey as the faint click of the door closing reaches her ears.

"Miss Swan, what do you think you are doing?"

Picking up both glasses, Emma moves across the room and extends a hand, forgoing a response until Regina sighs and accepts the proffered drink. "I didn't feel like going home just yet," she states, leaving the woman no choice but beside her if she wants to sit as she drops to the middle cushion of the couch.

"You expect me to believe you bought a house for a few extra days in town?" Disbelief laces the question as Regina glares at her and Emma smirks, shrugging her shoulders and sipping her drink as if to imply that yes, that is exactly what she is meant to believe.

"Either you are that irresponsible and frivolous or you are a terrible liar," Regina hisses, slamming her glass down on the table that separates them. "I will not have you putting ideas in my sons head and I want you out of my town, Miss Swan or so help me I will make your life a living hell."

Finding that she is once more intrigued and unashamedly aroused by the threat, Emma regards the brunette who fumes silently while she waits for a reaction that comes only when Emma notes her resolve weakening in the barely perceptible slump of her shoulders. Lowering her glass, she leans forward and places it on the table before standing slowly, stepping around the furniture and closing the space between them in the blink of an eye.

"You have me all wrong, Madam Mayor," Emma murmurs, lips curling as pupils dilate slightly and Regina stands her ground. "I'm not interested in _your _son."

Her eyes are drawn to the bob of a throat and rise as a pink tongue darts from perfect lips, mind screaming for her to close that last inch between them and claim the brunette, demanding the thorough possession of this venomous woman who thinks she can threaten her without consequence.

But Emma isn't the one who snaps first and she moans at the hungered press of lips against her own, the coppery tang of blood filling her mouth as her lower lip is clamped between teeth and fingers thread themselves within her hair. She welcomes the plundering of her mouth as the tongue forces its way inside, her hands gripping the slim waist and yanking the brunette against her as their teeth clash and tongues duel.

Her tie becomes a leash that Regina wraps around her hand, leading Emma back to the couch where she is unceremoniously shoved down before the brunette straddles her legs and returns to her mouth. Hands pull her dress shirt from her slacks and slip beneath, nails raking down the taut flesh of her stomach and digging into her sides as Regina dominates the kiss.

"What are you doing to me?" Regina gasps after a few heated minutes, rocking her hips as she tries to catch her breath and Emma laughs, inaudible pants becoming heady moans as she ignores the question and attaches her lips to Regina's neck.

Sliding her hand under the short skirt, Emma drags her knuckles against damp lace and coaxes more of those delicious sounds from swollen lips before Regina brings everything to an abrupt stop with a forceful tug of her hair. "Wait…"

Emma slumps back against the couch, her ability to focus on anything other than ravishing the woman in her lap has her easily lifting Regina and dumping her on the cushion beside her before she stands, retrieving a refill for her drink while the brunette composes herself enough to explain why it is they had to stop.

Removing her jacket, she downs the first and tosses the garment to the side, loosening her tie before pouring another and moving back to her seat. Unused to the suffocating silence that seems to have snuck up on them, whiskey is less like vodka and more like water to her kind but she relaxes with the simple, repeated motion of drinking and eventually meets Regina's stare, having felt it on her ever since she had stood up.

"Why do I want to keep touching you?" Emma's eyes drop to the brunette's lap where hands continuously clench, proof of the very claim the question implies and she shakes her head with a sigh.

While vampires are more desirable to almost every other species and she could manipulate people into doing what she wants, whatever is drawing them together has nothing to do with her, at least no more than Regina herself and she has no explanation beyond the obvious.

"Mutual attraction, I suppose." She shrugs and Regina snorts her disbelief.

"There is something about you," Regina stands and bends to retrieve her drink from earlier, knocking back the amber liquid as Emma's eyes wander appreciatively over the view. "And I will find out what you're hiding."

Emma smirks and watches the woman saunter over to the door, speaking as she pulls it open. "Stop trying to run me out of your town and you'll find out more than you ever wanted to know."

"Consider me curious, Miss Swan," Regina replies, her throaty chuckle muffled behind the now closed door.


	3. Chapter 3

Loud thumping awakens Michael and he rolls from the couch to his feet with a groan. Throwing a glance to the clock, he growls as he crosses the room to the door, flinching at the bright light that hits his eyes before a head moves to block it. Blinking rapidly, a woman comes into focus and he knows without a doubt that this is the one Richard spoke of in detail.

Uptight, aggressive but undeniably beautiful.

"Where is she?"

Still recovering from partial blindness and with a mind foggy from sleep, it takes a few seconds before it dawns on him who she's referring to. He shakes his head, regretting the decision not to roll over and pretend he hadn't heard the knocking. Even if a majority of people would have a heart attack after learning the truth about his friend, he had a hard time lying to people. "She isn't here."

"Don't lie to me, I need her!" Had he not noticed the tear-stained cheeks or the wild, hysterical look in her eyes, he would have laughed at the words. What this woman needs are anger management classes.

"Look, Mayor Mills, if she was here I would get her for you but she isn't." He raises his hand when she opens her mouth to speak, stopping her words with an offer, "Perhaps I could help?"

Her face contorts with equal amounts of confusion and anger as she growls, "Who are you?"

"I'm Michael," he replies. A werewolf you pissed off waking too early, his mind adds. "I'm a friend of hers and whatever the problem is, she'd want me to help since she is unable to."

He inwardly sighs in relief as she composes herself with a few deep breaths before she explains, "My son… the mine collapsed shortly after he went in there and he's trapped."

Disappearing back into the dark cabin, he searches around for where he left his jacket earlier that morning and asks, "Has the sheriff's department been notified? Someone who could launch a rescue?"

Grabbing a fistful of leather, he throws the jacket over his shoulder and moves back into the light. Knowing the problem, he is somewhat sympathetic to what she must be feeling and chooses to ignore the unvoiced insult that her annoyed glare suggests would have been her response. "Right, right okay, take me to him and I'll see what I can do."

Her nostrils flare and he can feel the beginnings of a headache, resigning himself to the fact her mood is not about to improve unless her son is returned to her safe and sound. "How the hell can you help?" she snaps.

"Jesus fucking Christ, lady," he mutters beneath his breath, forcing her back as he steps on to the porch and slams the door shut behind him before making his way to her car. "I'm the only choice you have; we can either stand there while you yell at me and his oxygen runs out or you can damn well take me to him."

In fairness, there is a difference between being sympathetic and being a doormat for the woman to walk all over when she is the one who woke him to deal with her problem. Thankfully, their drive to the scene is silent and he glimpses her iron grip on the steering wheel from the corner of his eye, wondering how it is that the woman went from yelling at his friend, to having the nerve to appear the next morning and ask for help.

In what has to be record time, they arrive within five minutes and he launches himself from the car before she can start bitching some more and wanders over to where a group huddles together. Their hushed whispers quite clear in his own ears, he rolls his eyes when it becomes apparent that these people were the town's gossips, veering off and coming to stand beside a man in uniform who appears to be studying a map of the area.

"You must be the sheriff," he states and puts forth his hand as the man turns upon noticing him, introducing himself, "I'm Michael, the Mayor asked for my help."

"Graham," the man responds and shakes his hand with a smile. "I'm not sure what good more bodies will do us, no one seems to know of a way into the mine besides where the tunnel collapsed and I can't find a damn thing."

"In most cases, a mine has multiple entrances," Michael says and glances down at the map laid before them. He shakes his head after a moment; they didn't have time to comb the area if they were hoping to save the child rather than find his body.

"I think I have an idea that I'll need to run by the Mayor."

Though he dreads another conversation with the woman, he turns swiftly and marches over to the brunette all the same. As much of a risk as it is, he wasn't kidding about the kid's lack of oxygen. Knowing Emma, even if she had no interest in the boy, she still wouldn't forgive letting him die, not when he shares her blood. "Mayor Mills, I need you to take me to the collapsed entrance."

She narrows her eyes but surprises him and beckons as she starts walking without a hostile comment or thinly veiled insult, the silence rather pleasant in comparison to the start of his morning as he trails along behind her.

His eyes zero in on the rubble before they reach the area, scanning for the weakest points in the blockade to avoid once he does the seemingly impossible. Moving forward, he tests the beams and loose rock with his hands, rolling his shoulders as he looks back over to the Mayor who appears to be studying him.

"I'm about to do something I probably shouldn't," he admits and to anyone who knows him, the impish grin he wears would clue them in on the fact he is about to do something he _knows _he shouldn't. By the tilt of her head, he's sure the Mayor has at least gathered that much. "You may or may not panic, I can't be certain about these things but I assure you I have every intention of saving your son."

That said, he frees a beam from the debris on the ground and shoves it under a precariously balanced rock, ensuring what stability he can before he rips the largest of the boulders from the entrance and tosses it effortlessly to the side.

"What's his name?" He calls over his shoulder.

"Henry," she replies and he glances back, confused by the steady sound of her voice.

He acknowledges the calm curiosity in her gaze with a nod of his head and enters the mine, partially shifting his form to utilize his wolf's speed as he darts through twists and turns, calling the boy's name. Someone would have some explaining to do when the dust settles and his mind helpfully volunteers Emma, this rescue mission the perfect blackmail for avoiding _that _conversation.

* * *

Emma inhales sharply and stares up at the ceiling above her bed, her heightened senses detecting the scent and sounds of multiple people moving about upstairs. Closing her eyes and concentrating, she hears the footfalls descending the stairs to her quarters seconds before a wrist presses against her mouth and she sinks her fangs in, humming as the hot caress of blood fills her mouth and scorches her throat.

Her eyes snap open at the unexpected taste of the wolf; hunger satiated far quicker as her fangs retract. She releases Michael with a lick of her lips, her look questioning as she sits up. "We have guests who got hungry and I sent Richard to fetch them food; he called when you summoned him," he explains.

Rising with a content sigh as her flesh tingles pleasantly from the quick feeding; Emma staggers over to the wardrobe and begins the tiring endeavour of searching through her clothes for something to wear. Usually, she would spend a few hours alone, looking over documents for one of the nightclubs and studying files for her next bounty target but the added presences in the house has her guard up. Not that she isn't excited about the prospect of seeing the Mayor again, but she does need to know whatever is going on before she can relax and get back into her normal routine.

"Is there a reason the brat and his mother are here? She doesn't seem the type to make a friendly social call," she questions.

"That woman is a nightmare," he informs her as though she didn't already know that and she laughs as she reappears, holding an outfit consisting entirely of black; jeans, blouse and knee-length boots – lingerie already firmly in place. "Nice variety you have there."

"No one asked you, Kyan Douglas," she retorts, childishly poking out her tongue at him as she saunters over to the bed and drops everything into the middle.

He chuckles and shakes his head, retrieving a simple belt with a silver buckle from the assortment on her dresser and tossing it to her as he enquires, "Are you claiming to be straight now?"

Emma grimaces, her shudder at the thought is enough of a hint as to how repulsed she is by _that _idea. "I would be if I were a guy," she replies.

He grins, nodding his head in understanding. "Fair enough."

Buttoning her blouse, Emma fixes him with an unimpressed stare. "You did something bad, didn't you?"

"Who me?"

"Yeah you, don't think I didn't notice you avoiding my question," Emma laughs. "Did you knock out some other innocent woman?"

Feigning offense, he asks, "How do you know it wasn't a guy?"

"Because you're more likely to seduce them, now answer the question before I tell Richard you have a huge gay man crush on his dangly bits."

Emma rolls her eyes at his mock gasp of horror and he sighs, "Look, the kid did something stupid, then she came looking for you this morning to ask for help and I offered my services… And did something stupid of my own."

Bouncing from the bed and darting to the door, he adds, "She'll explain everything to you and that will give me time to run as far away from you as I can."

Glaring at the retreating figure, she shakes her head and laces her boots. If Michael thought she would be pissed by whatever she is about to learn, then she knows it isn't anything good. Bracing herself for a shit storm, she leaves the comfort of her room and ascends the stairs to the upper floor.

* * *

Regina offers a hesitant smile to the man approaching the cabin who returns it with one of his own as he passes, his arms loaded with all kinds of food from Granny's. While Michael had informed her that the driver is harmless, he also claimed himself as such and after what she witnessed at the mine, she didn't believe that for a second.

She returns her attention to the forest that stretches for miles, muscles loosening as the sound of the door closing behind him meets her ears. For some reason, the fact her son is in that cabin with those same two men does not worry her, a sense of trust she is not at all familiar with had been formed when Michael emerged from the mine, a soot-covered Henry cradled within his arms along with numerous scrapes and bruises on the both of them.

As uncertain as she is of everything else, his safety for now is one thing that fails to fill her with doubt. What is bothering her most about the entire ordeal is her curiosity, which has only grown in the time since she left the blonde last night. Not only had Michael refused to tell her what exactly he is but any time she mentioned Emma, he changed the subject or simply didn't respond and no amount of prodding would sway him.

After nearly three decades of blind obedience, she is both annoyed and excited for the chance at something different. Add to this newfound excitement the confusing and overwhelming desire she feels towards her son's biological mother, and it leaves her with the maddening intrigue that has her wanting to rip the hair from her head in frustration.

With a sigh, she backtracks from the edge of the treeline and sits down on the porch, pulling her coat more tightly about her body as the temperature begins to drop and jerking when the door opens again, turning her head to see who she needs to feign civility for this time.

Emma stands with her hands buried deep in her back pockets, hair pulled back into a ponytail, head tilted with a faint but charming smile on her lips. "Hey."

"Miss Swan," she replies, inspecting the blonde with a hint of approval, appreciating Emma's chosen outfit all the more when her eyes land on the two buttons of the blouse left undone where she catches sight of lace peeking out. "No suit? Or do you only have the one and decided two days in a row was enough?"

"You caught that, huh?" Emma chuckles, coming to stand beside her and leaning against the railing as she grins down at the brunette. "I usually only wear them when I have certain meetings… and events where I'm expected to socialise with elitist snobs who think they're better than everyone else."

She shrugs, slipping down a step to sit beside her as she keeps talking. "The kid showed up an hour or so after I came home from one of said meetings and last night…" She pauses. "Well I did mention the fact I had no intention of staying, so I didn't have a change of clothes until today."

Regina continues to stare for a moment more, a strange want building within her for the blonde to carry on speaking and never stop, before she frowns and shakes the thought from her mind.

"Why are you out here?" Emma asks.

Turning back to stare out at the forest, Regina replies simply, "I needed to think."

When she says nothing further, Emma prompts, "About?"

"A number of things, though none more baffling than witnessing a man lift something that had to weigh at least a ton and throw it ten feet as if it were nothing more than a beach ball."

"He outed himself?" Emma groans but it quickly turns to laughter, which causes Regina to narrow her eyes and stare at her as though she has lost her mind.

"Sorry… He's gay and I found it funny," she explains once she stops. "I have my immature moments."

"Obviously," Regina drawls with a roll of her eyes, though the twitch of her lips gives her away. "That does explain it though."

"Did he not sufficiently grovel for your attention?" Emma teases, chuckling at the noticeable flushing of cheeks and nudging Regina playfully with her shoulder. "I get it, you're gorgeous; he had to be either gay or blind. Though I'm not sure blind would be a hindrance because that voice…" She whistles. "Damn."

This time, Regina is the one to chuckle and it feels good, having something to laugh at after the spectacularly bad day she has had so far. Somehow, it is effortless for her to accept that Emma is the reason she is starting to feel better and the way being around the blonde puts her at ease.

Sighing softly, Emma leans back on her hands and smirks as it draws the brunette's interest back to her chest, reminding her of the lengthy stare she had received when she first appeared. "So," she interrupts the silence. "Did he explain anything to you or do I need to kick his ass later for leaving it up to me?"

"He said he was chosen to fulfil an important role and that I would need to earn your trust if I wanted to know anything more," she recites what he had said verbatim, a frown creasing her brow. "He made it sound as though he is a servant of sorts, yet he introduced himself as your friend."

Releasing a puff of air, Emma sits forward, folding her arms across her thighs as she starts to explain. "I suppose his kind are often thought of as servants but that has never been how I see them. In a way, I think it's because my own kind are thought of as monsters and people are often more comfortable with shoving an entire race they don't understand into a single stereotype, rather than open their mind to the possibility that we are just as different as they are."

Realising she is getting off track, Emma dismisses the bitter memories from her past and looks to the brunette to ensure she hasn't lost her. Met with nothing more than curiosity, she smiles. There really is no easy way to tell someone that the stories of supernatural beings aren't just stories, so she chooses the straightforward approach.

"He's a werewolf."

The confession fails to garner any of the responses she expects. Accusations of being delusional, laughter born of mistaking her words for a joke, fear, irrational excitement; none of it. Instead, she is blindsided by a flash of recognition and… understanding.

"He's a guardian, a protector of the nightwalkers which makes you…" Emerald eyes are drawn to the bob of a throat, much like they were last night before Regina finishes, "You're a vampire."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note: **This is a bit of an odd chapter but I think it works and I might be a bit tired so if it doesn't, just humour me.

* * *

Emma doesn't deny it and chooses to sit and wait, not knowing if Regina is processing or if there is something else. She has questions, so many questions but this moment belongs to Regina and she resolves to wait for her answers. She is not idle and instead uses the time to regard the brunette, noting the subtle shifts within her expression and the mouth that opens, then closes without a single utterance.

If not for the insects or the soft breeze moving through trees, they would sit in silence while seconds turn to minutes. At least half an hour had passed already and her patience amazes even her, yet she is resolute in her decision. She can see the wheels turning in Regina's mind, hear the sounds of her breathing as her eyes skip over the pulse that beats steadily beneath flesh.

"You aren't meant to exist."

Emerald eyes snap to brown, darting away to the ground as Regina tugs the collar at her neck and pulls her coat more firmly around her body, feelings of shame washing over Emma. "So the stories say," she murmurs. "You shouldn't believe everything you read."

The frustrated huff of breath forces her gaze to return and Regina shakes her head. "I don't mean the ridiculous tales from this world," she replies. "I mean you should be extinct; the last known nightwalker died over millennia ago. Evangeline Cervantes, murdered her human lover when she caught him having an affair. She was caught hiding in the attic of his home, they pried the roof off and she burned alive."

So many questions, Emma's mind repeats.

She sighs and stands, taking a few steps toward the forest before she turns. "Actually, Evangeline Cervantes was the human and she staked her lover Damien Le Mort. He was the son of one Alessa Le Mort, the true last of the nightwalkers who escaped her world after killing Evangeline and..." she gestures around them. "Found another."

Regina frowns as if nothing were more annoying than having the wrong information. Emma can't help but laugh and after a moment in which the brunette glares at her, Regina asks, "Why did Evangeline kill him?"

"She didn't know what he was. They were set to marry and he somehow managed to hide his identity from her for nearly a year." Emma shrugs. She had heard the story so many times now, that it no longer affected her the way that it used to. "He loved her, decided he couldn't lie to her anymore. You know, the typical tragic romance that this world would butcher to line their pockets in exchange for two meaningless hours of entertainment."

"And I thought I was jaded," Regina muses with a smile that has Emma rolling her eyes as she returns to her side and sits down.

"Why aren't you freaking out about this?" Emma questions, unable to ignore her own curiosity any longer. "I mean, I've never told anyone what I am before but I'm at least ninety percent certain most people would have runaway screaming in terror. Either that or tried to convince me to commit myself to the nearest mental institution."

"Are you crazy?" Regina asks and Emma shakes her head in reply. "Should I be afraid of you? Are you going to bite me and drain my blood when I'm not looking?"

"No to the first, possibly to the second and definitely not to the third." Another frown creases Regina's brow and Emma chuckles before she elaborates, "You have no reason to be afraid of me. I would like to bite you but I'm not interested in draining your blood, as that would likely kill you and decrease my chances of being able to do the second thing."

When she finishes, she notes where Regina's gaze lingers on her chest for the third time that night and she smirks. Lowering her voice suggestively, she leans in and adds, "Though if you'd rather be the one to do the biting, I'm not opposed to the idea _and _I heal quickly."

"Lucky me," Regina murmurs hoarsely and before Emma knows it, a hand fists in her shirt as Regina beats her to the punch once more and claims her mouth, giving in to the inexplicable pull that exists between them.

Emma's mind blanks for a few glorious seconds before she tenses and pushes her away. She avoids looking for the reaction that paints itself across the brunette's face, her jaw clenching in irritation as she turns to stare out into the darkness surrounding them.

As she knew it would, the door swings open behind them a moment later and renders an explanation unnecessary as Henry's voice pierces the sudden silence. "Mom?"

"Oh," Regina breathes softly, the relief in her tone is clear and Emma side-glances the woman, seeing her assumption confirmed by the imperceptible sag of shoulders as Regina turns to her son. "Yes, sweetie?"

"I brought you something to eat since you didn't come in," he says and steps on to the porch, his eyes darting between both women as though he's trying to discern whether he needs to intervene. "Hi Emma."

"Hey kid," she replies and the nudge against her leg lets her know her attempt to hide the edge from her voice isn't successful. With a mental sigh, she forces herself to speak with a lightness she isn't feeling and adds, "Your mother and I were just talking, lost track of the time I guess."

"Okay," he says slowly and backs away toward the door. "I'm going to read comics with Richard then."

Emma smiles as Regina clucks her tongue in disapproval, imagining a thought along the lines of Richard being a man-child running through her head as she informs him, "We will be returning home shortly; it's nearly your bed time, young man."

"Yes _mom_," he grumbles and Emma flinches as he slams the door a little too hard, raising her eyebrow as she looks to Regina.

"What?"

Sifting through her thoughts, Emma quickly dismisses them all because none of them seem appropriate when referring to the child of the woman she's interested in. She knows that if she wants to remain on Regina's good side, then her tolerance of him needs to change and so she settles for a question instead. "Is he always like that?"

"You mean like a child who recently found out he is adopted and thinks his mother is the Evil Queen, who supposedly killed countless people for no reason other than because she could?"

Emma had started shaking her head the second Regina began talking and didn't stop until she finished. "I mean like a child who appears to be suffering some sort of bi-polar disorder. If I had spoken to any of my foster parents the way he does to you, they would've beaten the sense back into me," she scowls at the thought, vivid memories of a time long since passed filling her head.

Okay, so maybe the thoughts she tried to keep to herself were slipping through but seriously, the kid is damn lucky in comparison to what she got away with when she was younger. "He thinks you're this Evil Queen and looks at you as though nothing will convince him otherwise. Even when he does something nice like bring you dinner, he has some ulterior motive. I'm tempted to reveal to him just who his beloved Savior happens to be. You think he'll want me around once he finds out my secret?"

Regina allows her to rant, though as soon as Emma realises the blank expression on the woman's face, she stops herself from continuing and drops her head into her hands with a groan. The anger she feels at the mere mention of the son she gave up all those years ago is unlike her. It brings back memories of the monster she was in the past, the one who lacked the control she had worked so hard to gain over her natural instincts, the one who probably would have killed the boy without a second thought and showed no remorse after the fact.

With the shake of her head, Regina stands and Emma stiffens at the flash of anger swirling within the brown depths of her eyes. "What if he's telling the truth?" Hands balling into fists at her side, she asks, "What if I am the Evil Queen? Do you think I would warrant his treatment then? Would knowing that I have killed people who didn't deserve it change your opinion?"

"You can't be serious." The words cause Regina's nostrils to flare and she spins on her heel, ready to be done with the conversation but Emma grabs her by the wrist and forces her back around. "Why would it change? Whoever you are does not alter the fact you're also his mother who he treats like shit."

The door opens again before either of them can continue and Michael pops his head out. "You guys are getting kind of loud," he says with an apologetic smile.

For what feels like forever, the two women stare at one another before Regina rips her gaze from Emma's and glances to Michael. "Please have my son gather his things and meet me in the car, I think it's past time we left," she says, ignoring the protests that fall immediately from Emma's lips as she walks over to the Mercedes, slamming the door with something akin to finality when she drops into the driver seat.

* * *

Emma's words eat at her on the drive home and whenever she chances a look into the rear-view mirror, a hate-filled glare is there to meet her. Her heart aches each time, the painful stab beneath her breast increasing in intensity with every second while a silence that overflows with tension burdens the air around them.

As soon as she pulls into the driveway, Henry is out and walking quickly up the path, only stopping when he reaches the stoop where he waits for her to unlock the door with a scowl.

Part of Regina wishes he would say something, even if his words cut like a knife. While another, bigger part of her just wants things to return to how they used to be. When he had been a little boy who loved his mother, a time where her only hope was that he was safe and happy rather than keeping her guard up constantly for the moment he snaps, unable to hold his hate for her in any longer.

She unlocks the door without word and watches him run into the house, eyes following his ascent up the stairs. He stops at the second floor landing and she braces herself as best she can, busying herself with removing her coat as she feels his glare burning a hole right through her.

"I hoped you would leave me there," he says with a voice void of emotion.

He doesn't wait for her to respond and she's glad when he continues on to his bedroom, the tears that burn her eyes falling as he disappears. Her throat closes up with the emotional overload and she presses a hand to her chest, rubbing the area roughly as her mind tries to convince her that it is impossible for a heart to break.

No matter what Emma said, Regina knows she deserves everything he throws at her. She spent years tormenting people, killing others for the simple pleasure their deaths brought her. The blonde was right about the way he treats her now, but she was wrong about being his mother. Henry didn't see her that way and isn't that what counts? It was the same reason she never considered Snow White her daughter despite being married to Leopold.

Snapping herself from the thoughts, Regina kicks off her heels and makes her way to the study. Her hand drops from where it lays across her chest, the ache beneath having dulled to a faint, tolerable throb. She pours herself a glass of cider and moves to the window, staring out into the night as she waits for the inevitable haze to cloud her mind and deaden her senses enough for sleep to end this miserable day.

* * *

When the taillights from the Mercedes vanish from sight, Michael stands patiently beside his friend. One of two things can happen as a result of the anger he feels radiating from her. She will either close in on herself and pretend everything is normal, or she will allow the feeling to consume her and it is the latter that has him remain, a silent volunteer if the time comes and she needs to vent her frustrations on something.

"I fucked up," she says eventually and he looks to her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Talking had not been an option in the past, Emma preferred the violent route more often than not.

"Oh?" He tries not to sound too interested. He had heard a fair amount of their conversation before he interrupted them but he didn't understand eithers reaction to one another after the last of what had been said.

"I should have known better than to bad mouth him to her," she explains. "It's obvious how much she loves him, how blind she is to his behaviour."

"I don't think she's blind to it," he disagrees. As little interaction as he has had with the Mayor and though he has minimal knowledge of the supposed curse that brought them here, there was no mistaking the depreciation lacing Regina's tone when she spoke of the Evil Queen. "Whether this curse business is real or not, she seems to think his treatment of her is some kind of penance, a key to atoning for the mistakes she made in the past."

Emma nods along to his words, her expression thoughtful as she recalls Regina's exact questions. It was obvious the woman thought she deserved to be shunned for whatever reasons she had convinced herself of and though Emma wants them to talk about it, she knows it will take some time to recover from tonight unless the kid goes and gets himself trapped down a well.

At some point, the opportunity to know the truth will present itself to her and if it doesn't, then she'll find a way to make it. Until then, she has a lot of pent up aggression to release and with a sigh, she says, "I need to hit something."

"Well bring it on, blondie," Michael grins and with the quickness that only those of their kind are capable, his hand connects with a loud smack against her cheek.

Licking the blood from her lip with a smirk, she crouches down and growls, "Oh it's on."


	5. Chapter 5

Emma hears him long before she catches his scent.

Standing along the dock, smelling anything beyond the repugnant aroma of fish is almost impossible. There is a temptation to hide but she knows if she does, he will continue to look for her and the sooner she deals with whatever reason he came to find her, the sooner she can return him home, which is where he should be at such a late hour.

It angers her that he has come looking, less because she has no desire to see him and more because there is not a single doubt in her mind that his mother expects him to be in his bed where he would be warm, bundled up beneath soft covers and fast asleep, dreaming of whatever it is little boys dream.

There is stillness behind her and without turning around, she asks, "Does your mother know you're here?"

"Yeah," he says and she grits her teeth at the smartass way in which it had been said, knowing what he is about to add. "You do."

She keeps her eyes on the motion of the water and the ripples along its surface soothe the anger burning in her veins. Her fingers curl into the railing, nails digging painfully into metal and there is softness in her tone that is betrayed by her words, "I'm not your mother, kid. The sooner you accept that, the better."

A few years ago, before she was turned, before her eyes were opened fully to the world around them and all its wondrous and sometimes frightening mysteries, her response might have been different. Now, the thought of family, the thought of a child of her own; they were naught but distant fantasies. She no longer feels the hope and excitement that used to fill her, no longer yearns to seal the void a lack of those things used to create.

"She doesn't love me," he mumbles quietly and she looks down at him as he comes to stand at her side. "All she does is lie to me."

There are plenty of responses that come to mind, that she wants to give but the strongest is aggressive, emotional, defensive on behalf of the woman who raised him, who has proven she loves him with the simple fact he has a home. He isn't some starved child, wandering the streets and begging for scraps, relying on the kindness of strangers the way she had to. He is loved - but it is clear to her that he is either buried so deep in denial that he can't recognise it, or he is simply too stubborn to admit he's wrong and uses it as a reason to lash out and rationalise his treatment of her.

"So what?" His brow creases at the question and she waits until he raises his gaze to hers before she clarifies, "So what if she doesn't love you? You have a home; somewhere you're safe and cared for. You never have to worry about where your next meal comes from, or whether that hole in your jacket will cause you to freeze to death next winter."

Releasing her hold on the rail, she turns and rests her back against it now that she has his undivided attention, folding her arms across her chest as she stares down at him. "There are children all over the world who suffer from homelessness, starvation and sickness and here you are, spoiled little rich boy from Maine whining because he isn't loved as if a pitiful little emotion is what keeps you alive."

She breathes deeply, closing her eyes with a grimace as she briefly forgets where they are and the smell of fish causes nausea to pool in her gut - some days, she thinks the benefits to what she is aren't worth the disadvantages. Her eyes snap open when the sound of a sniffle meets her ears and though she remains unapologetic, she acknowledges his hurt feelings by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Why do you always take her side?" He asks after a while, his voice scratchy and somewhat grating on her nerves.

"Because you're wrong," she replies, shaking the less appropriate thoughts from her mind. If she wants him to reconsider his treatment of his mother then she doesn't think calling the kid a dick would be beneficial and she could handle a little disappointment in herself for resisting.

He opens his mouth in protest but she sees the anger in his eyes first and grips his shoulder with a firmer hand, signalling that she isn't finished. "Your belief that she is the Evil Queen does not allow you to treat her, or anyone else the way you do. You are a child and no matter what you think, she is your mother who has done no wrong to you."

His face contorts with a scowl. "She lies to me!" He shouts and she has the sense not to slap him, despite the overwhelming urge she has to do so.

"Everyone lies, especially when it comes to protecting themselves and the people they love," she growls. "If your theory is real, if she is the Evil Queen; what will admitting it to you accomplish?"

His mouth opens and closes while he searches for a response, frustration seeping in to his expression as he comes up empty.

When his shoulders drop in resignation and he hangs his head, she straightens and pushes away from the rail, directing him to her car with the hand still on his shoulder. "If you're right, if the curse is real and she is the person you think she is, then you need to give her a chance to tell her side of the story before you condemn her; it's the least you can do after the ten years she spent nurturing you." She speaks softly as they walk, trying to reason with him.

She knows it will take much more than one or two conversations to change his mind but it feels like a start, progress to expose his actions and perhaps set him on the path to communicating with his mother rather than throwing accusations around without allowing her to speak for herself.

* * *

Regina looks up from the book in her hands with a frown, setting it along with her tea on the table before she stands and makes her way towards the foyer. There is only one person who visits this late at night and she is no mood to entertain his cravings, having lost that particular desire the moment that infuriating woman entered her town.

As such, when she pulls open the door to who she thinks it is, her breath catches in her throat and the dismissive phrase on the tip of her tongue goes unsaid. Her lack of words when facing those breath-taking pools of emerald lasts no longer than a minute, however, as a head peeks out from behind the blonde and her son's sheepish expression causes a scowl to replace surprise.

"Bed, now." She gestures to the stairs and he stumbles inside without comment, the look of guilt he wears failing to soften her disposition as she adds, "You're grounded for the next month, young man."

Surprise returns when the punishment is met with no more than a sigh and as she faces Emma, her eyes travel the length of her body. There is a tug of arousal in the pit of her stomach at the sight of tight black jeans, paired with a red silk shirt and black leather jacket, though she pushes the feeling aside in favour of questioning her son's sudden change in behaviour.

Somehow, she knows Emma is responsible for the lack of back talk.

"I take it I have you to thank for the absence of a performance just now?" she inquires and receives a shrug, which manages to irritate her before Emma speaks.

"We talked," she explains. "I thought I should hear him out before returning him, otherwise he'd just try to escape and find me again. I pointed out a few things to him, he listened and now he's home. Nice seeing you again, Madam Mayor."

Regina's eye widen in panic as Emma turns and before she realises it, her hand reaches out to prevent the blonde from leaving. It's been three days since she drove off from the cabin and she has regretted it every minute since, powerless against the perplexing feeling of missing the sheer pleasure of the blonde's company.

Emma stops and her head turns slowly, a slight upturn of her lips. "Was there something else?"

Hand dropping from the shoulder back to her side, Regina swallows the lump in her throat and takes some time to gather her courage. When she feels her voice will remain steady and not reveal how weak she feels in the moment, she questions, "May we talk?"

She is unsure if Emma will accept the invitation and there is a second where it looks as though she will refuse, but then she turns fully and Regina breathes a small sigh of relief.

Holding the door wider, she steps back to allow her into her home and closes her eyes briefly as Emma passes, shoulders brushing against one another and sending a shiver down her spine. Closing the door, her state only worsens while she watches the blonde remove her jacket, the form-fitting blouse underneath doing nothing to hide the mesmerizing flex of biceps as muscles move beneath silk.

Knowing what Emma is, she is aware she has little choice in admiring the woman's form but she also knows were it simply down to the allure of her race; her control would not be as difficult to maintain. While she was never presented with the opportunity of meeting one before, Regina is well versed in the stories of magical beings, both those thought to be extinct and those whose existence are well known; at least in her world.

Needing a distraction from the thoughts that are starting to consume her mind, Regina retrieves the jacket and hangs it up before she leads her guest to the den where she had been obliviously enjoying her night – well, as much as she could enjoy it with the woman now present at the forefront of her thoughts.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Lowering herself to the chair beside the fire, Emma shakes her head and drapes her arms across the armrests, crossing her legs as she replies, "I'll pass." The ease with which she appears at home causes Regina to avert her eyes, silently scolding herself when the thought fails to produce the annoyance she would otherwise feel were it someone else and a flush spreads through her.

Mistaking her indecision about wanting a drink of her own as she stares at the ground, Emma speaks up after a minute. "If you've changed your mind, I can go," she offers and for a second, Regina feels the walls around her begin to crumble before Emma hurries to correct her apparent misread. "Or… I can sit here quietly until you're ready."

For the first time in three days, Regina smiles as the familiar calmness settles around her shoulders and she moves to take her seat across from the blonde. If she doubted herself before, she can no longer deny the effect the woman has on her, nor the fact she had missed her and the feelings her presence conjured.

"Thank you," she says and at the look of confusion, she elaborates, "For bringing him home again."

Emma inclines her head. "Perhaps you'll consider speaking to him this time," she suggests with a raised eyebrow, reminding Regina of the night they met where she made that same suggestion and the brunette frowns.

"If I had a clue as to what I should say, I might be more open to considering it but as he hasn't bothered to tell me why it is he seems to hate me and instead chooses to pretend I don't exist, it's rather difficult to entertain the idea of conversing with my son."

With a shrug, Emma stands and wanders over to the bookcase while Regina follows with her eyes. While talking had been her idea, she knows Emma has questions of her own and she finds it exasperating that the blonde doesn't simply come out and ask whatever it is she wants to know. If she were expecting her to admit that Henry's theory is true then she will be sorely disappointed, as Regina has no intention of doing so.

Emma on the other hand, knows what she wants to ask and the reason she stayed behind but she can't find the right words. Her instincts tell her that maybe the kid's story has more truth to it than she gave him credit for in the beginning, and though that would be something that needs to be discussed, it didn't feel as though it were the right time.

Alternatively, perhaps it is the perfect time but not the right _point _in time.

There is one thing she is curious about above all others and it seems as good a place as any other to begin their conversation. "How do you know about the nightwalkers?"

"I know many things, Miss Swan."

She has to refrain from rolling her eyes as she turns away from her perusal of books and faces the brunette, her expression suitably unimpressed by the response. "We both know this world has no knowledge of them, which means I'm already assuming you're not from this world," she says.

Raising her eyebrow, she gives Regina the chance to respond but the smirk that had been in place when she turned remains, and the brunette doesn't appear to have any intention of admitting or denying the assumption. "This also means I'm inclined to give more credence to your son's claims," she continues and while the smirk falters, she still refuses to respond.

"Are you the Evil Queen?"

"What would you do if I said yes, Miss Swan?" Regina leans back against the couch and spreads her arms along its back, a move that causes Emma's gaze to fall to the woman's chest as it strains the buttons on her shirt. "Would you take my son? Perhaps look for a way to break this supposed curse and be the Saviour, a hero for Henry to look up to?"

"Actually…"

Emma steps closer, the uncertainty overcoming Regina's expression causing a grin to sprout on her lips and spread the closer she gets. It becomes more and more evident that the Mayor's confidence is nothing more than a façade, having fallen completely by the time Emma stands in front of her.

"Part of my curiosity would be sated and you would lose a little of your mystery, which can't be helped as the darkness would explain that... predatory vibe you have going on." Her eyes rake over Regina's body to emphasis the point, her pose screaming, _"I'm the one in charge,"_ and doing unspeakable things to Emma's insides. "There would be admiration, of course."

At this, Regina raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and Emma chuckles. "Cursing a realm would take a woman of considerable power, I have no doubt," she reasons. "But then, I would also have so many questions. I mean _this _is your Happy Ending? This town is kind of dull, I really don't see how trapping yourself here for eternity would make anyone happy."

"You honestly expect me to believe this?"

"No," Emma replies and brown eyes widen as though she was not expecting genuine honesty. "If you are the Evil Queen, then you're also extremely intelligent and possess – well I would call the habit healthy under normal circumstances, but we both know how abundant your suspicion is, don't we?"

"What are y-"

"After all, you did run a background check on me as soon as you knew I had your son," Emma interrupts. It amuses her as much now as it had when her partner in Boston called to inform her two hours into her trip to Storybrooke, possibly more as she watches the myriad of emotions play out behind those expressive eyes.

Regina settles on a mix of frustration and interest as she asks, "How could you possibly know that?"

Sitting on the arm of the couch, sharp canines accompany a sinister smile as she leans in and reveals, "You required records only available in Boston and I _own_ Boston, Madam Mayor."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author Note: **Take note of the rating for this chapter and apologies to anyone reading my other stories, no excuse for the lack of updates besides tooth extractions being a serious bitch.

* * *

"You can't be a Mistress," Regina murmurs quietly, unable to detach her gaze from pale lips. Despite the unusual attraction, the nighttime hours and the strangeness of their first meeting, she didn't quite believe the blonde was one of them until that smile...

Emma tilts her head, amusement dancing in her eyes as she asks, "Can I not?"

Shaking her head, Regina raises her hand as she speaks, curling fingers around a jaw and sliding the pad of her thumb along the contours of Emma's mouth. "The fact you had Henry only ten years ago and your kind is unable to procreate, means you're barely more than a fledgling."

Parting her lips, Emma allows the thumb to brush against the pointed tips of her teeth before she pulls back enough to explain. "I was sired by an Elder who failed to train me properly. I nearly died because of her negligence and to prove my worth to the Council, I was ordered to kill her. My life and Boston were my reward, both of which I keep as long as I continue to prove myself."

Curious, Regina pauses in her ministrations to sort through her thoughts. Deciding on which of the many questions she has, she asks, "How old were you? When you were turned?"

"Twenty," Emma replies and wets her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Two years after I gave birth to Henry."

"Eight years," Regina whispers, pupils expanding with each passing breath. The power that Emma must possess to defeat her sire at such a young age only serves to heighten her attraction to the blonde. She struggles to contain her desire, feeling as it stretches the limits of her control and seeps into her voice. "Elders are at least three hundred years old."

Emma hums an affirmative, too distracted by the thumb that resumes tracing her lips as she studies the brunette. She is convinced now more than ever that Regina Mills is no simple Mayor of this backwater town in Maine. It was one thing to know of the nightwalkers, quite another to have such intimate knowledge of them.

"Time has started to move again." The throaty tenor of the brunette's voice causes flames of lust to ignite within Emma's veins but her brows furrow in confusion as Regina observes her reaction.

When comprehension crosses her face, Regina expects Emma to pull from her grasp. Intending to confess or not, she now knows that this woman is no better than she is. The darkness that continues to wrap itself around her heart is the same darkness that will forever cling to this woman, a darkness that will continue to grow wherever life may take her.

Nightwalkers were instinctual killers but to be counted as one of their leaders, to be a Mistress; she knows Emma would have gone far beyond the defeat of her sire to earn and keep the rights associated with the title. While her body count might not be up there with the Evil Queen, it certainly had to be high. Combined with the things she would need to do in order to stake her claim to dominance over Kindred who were older than she is – it didn't take much to imagine what sort of activities factor in to such a task.

"There's no magic in this world."

Regina is sure she misheard and she blinks out of her trance, eyes searching for an explanation, clarification – anything that would make sense of the words that just fell from those strangely kissable lips that continue to divert her attention from the conversation at hand.

"All these people," Emma continues when it becomes clear Regina isn't about to speak anytime soon. "Hundreds if not thousands of them, calling for your head when their memories return and you, with nothing to defend yourself, would be dragged from your home and forced to give it to them."

Their gazes meet as a cruel smile curls ruby-red lips and Regina snarls, "Not without a fight I won't."

Matching the smile with one of her own, Emma presses a finger beneath Regina's chin, tipping the brunette's head back and lowering her mouth until there is barely a breath of air between them. "There will be no need, as I have no interest in saving these people," she states, closing the gap to seize lips that willingly part in invitation.

Whether it is the words, the implication, or the genuine tone, something resonates from within and for the second time, Regina feels herself trusting another person. It is unlike the trust she found herself extending towards Michael for saving her son, less rational in sense- more powerful, if she were being honest with herself -and though it is confusing, as with everything regarding Emma; acceptance is almost instantaneous.

Grabbing Emma by the collar of her shirt, Regina twists in her seat and slides towards the other end of the couch, pulling the blonde with her as she lies flat on her back. She moans her appreciation of the weight that settles on top of her, remembering just how long it has been since she was last beneath someone- a woman no less -and how much she actually enjoys it.

Lips burn a trail down her neck and she tenses as teeth graze against her pulse, only to melt into the plush cushions beneath her as the hot mouth latches onto her neck. The gentle sucking of lips with the rough strokes of a tongue draws an agreeable cacophony of sound from deep in her throat. She feels the shudder against her, the action serving to further increase her arousal and she pushes under Emma's shirt, hands blazing across a heated back that feels impossibly softer than its silken cover.

When a thigh forces her skirt to her waist and slips between her legs to press against her sex, she whimpers and the sound is so helpless, so wanton, that Emma pauses and lifts her head from delectable flesh with a playful smirk. When she looks into lust-filled eyes, she expects desperation, a plea not to stop. Instead, what she sees is challenge, a dare to do just that and for a moment, she considers it.

Whether the Mayor, a mother or the Evil Queen; Emma is almost certain Regina is unaccustomed to being denied the things she wants. But while the temptation is there, and though it is strong, her own need to claim, to devour is much stronger. Pushing aside her natural instinct to rebel and do the exact opposite of what Regina wants- what she herself wants –Emma reclaims plump lips, sliding her tongue into a mouth that welcomes her with a nip of teeth and a strong suck.

Sliding her hand between them and cupping lace-covered sex, their kiss vibrates with twin moans of pleasure as Regina grinds down, coating Emma's hand with her slick heat.

"Jesus," Emma chuckles and pulls back. With a glance to her glistening hand, she looks to Regina and raises her eyebrow. "When was the last time you got laid, woman?"

"None of your business," Regina growls, not in the mood for another round of twenty questions. "Either do something about it, or leave and I'll take care of it myself."

"Well now, that would just be rude," Emma grins and barely a moment later, the rip of lace and a strangled gasp-turned-moan reverberates through the room as fingers glide through sodden folds. Emma enters her, silencing the reprimand on the tip of her tongue, which causes another heady moan to take its place and fall from Regina's lips before Emma bends to recapture them.

Their rhythm starts slow- almost painfully so -and though Regina needs more, she is so close to tipping over the edge that the thought of their time together ending prematurely is enough to hold her back from demanding it. Her walls clench around digits, milking them for all their worth as she arches her back and takes them in deeper. A guttural, almost inhumane sound builds within her chest as Emma adds a third and starts to thrust hips into the back of her hand.

Unaware she had closed them, her eyes flutter open when Emma's lips are no longer on hers and she trembles, overcome with the sudden desire to feel teeth penetrate her flesh, eyes fixed on elongated fangs as Emma pants from above her. "Emma," she rasps just loud enough to get the blonde's attention. "Bite me."

Releasing a breathless chuckle, Emma shakes her head and quickens her pace. She wants to taste Regina, to drink in the essence that provides this breath-taking woman with life but she knows that with her senses already overloaded with sensation, she would lose control as what little she has is in danger of failing.

"Not tonight," she murmurs and the flash of disappointment in those chocolate orbs causes an unfamiliar need to comfort, to reassure that while she isn't willing to give in to the woman's demands in the moment, it didn't mean there isn't a chance for it in future.

Clasping her free hand around the back of Regina's neck, she pulls the brunette up and brushes their mouths together, curling her fingers as her bottom lip is ensnared between perfect teeth. Another chuckle bubbles forth as she feels the sharp pain, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth in retaliation for the denial- not that she minds, moaning as a tongue forces its way back between her lips and Regina stiffens against her with a muffled cry.

There is an odd sense of belonging in the moment.

A flicker of _something_ in her chest.

Something warm.

Were her heart not cold and dead beneath her breast, she would have sworn the feeling was its stuttered beat.

* * *

When Regina comes to, she is disoriented and it takes her a while before she realises the softness beneath her head is not that of the couch in her den. Her eyes open blearily and through the darkness, she can just barely make out the silhouette of the body her subconscious had decided made a better pillow than the real thing.

Between the blind panic and the unnatural feeling of affection for the woman who had stayed until she came to, she chooses the former and starts to roll off the blonde. She manages to lift all of a hand from a hip before an arm tightens around her waist and the murmured, "Don't do that," puts an abrupt stop to her plans.

Raising her head from where it rests against a stomach, she struggles to breathe as Emma stares down at her with an unreadable expression. She feels warm all of a sudden and the feeling only strengthens as knuckles ghost lightly, almost reverently across her cheek.

Swallowing down the strange emotions brewing within her, Regina licks her lips and looks to the clock on the bedside table, inwardly cursing as it reads 4:28 and she realises Emma will be returning to the cabin soon. Her head drops back down with a sigh and her panic fades with the knowledge.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," she says, eyes closed as she revels in the feeling of fingers threading their way through her hair and the nails that lightly drag against her scalp.

"Well it was two am," Emma speaks softly. "We can't all be creatures of the night."

Tilting her head back, Regina looks up at her and asks, "Why did you stay?" There is no anger or accusation in her voice, purely curiosity. The only real experience she has when it comes to sleeping with someone were Graham and Leopold, and neither stayed afterwards- though admittedly the former only ever left because she always threw him out when she was finished with him and truthfully until this moment, she had never wanted anyone to stay in the first place.

"To begin with, it was because you refused to let go of me when I brought you up here," Emma chuckles and her eyes drift to where Regina's hand still clings to the bottom of her shirt. "But then I realised, I would have stayed because I didn't want to give you the wrong impression by leaving without telling you."

Regina's heart beats almost violently against her chest as she asks, "What impression would that be?" With equal amounts of dread and hope, she fails to mask her feelings as they lace the question with a treacherous voice.

Fingers trail through her hair, brushing over her neck to her shoulder where they then travel down her arm to coax the hand into releasing fabric ensnared within her fist. "That I was only interested in you for one reason," Emma murmurs and weaves their fingers together. "I told you the night we met that you intrigue me, and the night after; that I stayed for you and not your son. Being in your presence not only amuses me but calms me in a way that nothing, and no one, ever has."

With the admittance that her presence instills the same things Emma's does in her, Regina dismisses her curiosity about finding her amusing and asks, "Am I the reason you won't break the curse?"

"No," comes the quick denial and she attempts to snatch her hand away in sudden anger, only for the hold to tighten as Emma explains, "Were the curse to break, I would protect you against those that wished you harm, as would Michael and no ill-equipped mob would stand a chance against me, let alone the two of us together."

Mildly placated by the response, Regina breathes a sigh and relaxes back into her while Emma continues, "I decided before we met that if what Henry said was true, then I wouldn't break it. Now that I know it is real, I also know my parents are here somewhere and I can never face them, not as I am now."

Eyes widening in realisation, Regina inhales sharply and sits up. How could she have forgotten the Savior is the damned love child of those two, insipid morons? More importantly, why in hell was this woman not tearing her limb from limb? She is the reason, after all, for why Emma can never meet her parents and here the woman is _snuggling _up to the Evil Queen, confessing things best kept to herself.

"You need to leave," she says and for once her voice doesn't betray her, sounding emotionless despite the fact she is freaking out.

Fortunately for her, Emma is far more observant than most and had already gathered she was about to be kicked out. Were dawn not fast approaching, she would have argued the move but for now, she accepts the dismissal and rises from the bed. She feels the eyes follow her to the door and opens it before pausing. Turning back to the brunette, she informs, "I'm coming back," and slips into the hall without waiting for a response.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author Note: **You're all going to hate me, and it shall be glorious.

* * *

The events of that night with Emma play in Regina's mind constantly over the following week. She tries to tell herself the loss she feels is because of her son who, while tampering his desire to lash out, remains distant. She has even gone so far as to risk asking him about what Emma said, but he ignores her and shrugs off her questions whenever she enquires.

The way he dismisses her bothers her to the point that she almost gives in to temptation to visit the blonde, surprised the woman hasn't already tried to return to the mansion and demand an explanation for why Regina dismissed her that night. She supposes for someone who is immortal, time is an irrelevant thing and it is likely that Emma is waiting for her to make the first move. She would like to claim she doesn't intend to give in, but her resolve is weakening with each passing day.

Being that she is the child of Snow White and Prince Charming, Regina is conflicted about their involvement with one another. She wants to believe Emma has no intention of breaking the curse, part of her even does, yet she barely knows the woman. For all she knows, getting close to the Evil Queen is simply how the Savior operates.

While Emma may be the product of True Love, her very nature means her survival relies on a certain amount of deception and manipulation, which also means she cannot expect her to play by the rules of good as her insipid parents would have. The fact she found herself trusting her before receiving the reminder of her parentage only adds to her difficulty in staying away from her. Her fears of the unknown keep her walls up, but she can feel them failing bit by bit as her feelings for the blonde eat away at her.

The way she feels; she imagines is similar to withdrawal. She can barely sleep but when she does, all she dreams of are piercing green eyes and pointed teeth. She eats, yet food tastes as ash in her mouth and whenever she is around other people, all she does is snap at them.

It worsens day by day until early one morning, about a week later.

She awakens at 5am sharp, as she does every morning, except this time she is not alone. Even with her eyes closed, she can feel the presence at the foot of the bed and her breathing hitches in her throat. Her mind screams for her to move, to launch herself from the bed and run to Henry's room, pull him from his slumber and escape while she can.

She tries to tell herself that it is only Emma, that it cannot possibly be anyone else because no one else would dare, but for some reason she is unable to convince herself. Confusion fills her as she opens her eyes because there, at the end of the bed, stands Emma just as she thought and she wonders where; where is the feeling of calm that usually follows this woman about. Why does she feel as if she is still in danger?

"I'm not really here." She gasps when the voice drifts through her mind and she sits abruptly, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to remove the ghostly shimmer that embraces the woman as if an aura of some kind.

Her alarm sounds, unusually loud and her attention snaps to the clock. It reads 5:05am and that's when understanding dawns on her; whomever- whatever this is staring down at her- it isn't her Emma that flickers beneath the morning light, but this Emma smiles just the same.

"You are right, I am not your Emma; merely a projection of her consciousness." Regina closes her eyes, awash with the soothing sound of that hollow voice as it caresses her mind. "She feels you, your need for her and it pains her to stay away from you."

With a slow exhale of breath, she opens them again and stares at this manifestation before her, immediately aware of all the differences between this version and the version she knows. Eyes, which are generally filled with emotion remain blank and the slumped, carefree stance; rigid and hard. More and more dissimilarities become clear in these moments of complete silence.

Discomforted by the presence, she shifts beneath the covers and swallows nervously, her mouth dry as she tries to find the words to express the thoughts and questions that are mounting by the second. This Emma tilts her head and merely stares, seemingly waiting for her to do something, which only confuses her even more.

"I am waiting for you to ask your questions," she states.

Regina frowns, only just now realising this _thing _seems to be able to read her mind and before she can ask why it doesn't simply seek the questions out without her having to voice them, it provides her with the answer. "I believe some questions you would rather remain a mystery and that is why I will not simply pick one at random."

Huffing in irritation, Regina throws the covers back and climbs from the bed. She moves to her wardrobe and searches through it for an outfit to wear, muttering under her breath. Reaching for a pair of black slacks, she pauses and scoffs at herself, snatching them from the shelf before emerging from the wardrobe.

"Why are you here?"

Seemingly unperturbed by her behaviour, it replies simply, "While deep within sleep, she lacks the control required to resist your call."

That stops Regina dead in her tracks and she turns to face the form with an incredulous look. "My _call_?" she snaps. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Your soul calls out to her, a constant haunting song filled with sadness and longing."

Her anger rises quickly and a sneer forms as she points to her bedroom door. The Evil Queen longed for no one, certainly not some filthy blood-drinking creature of the night. "Leave my house and don't return," she snarls.

"Sending me away won't change the truth," comes the reply and her nostrils flare as this _thing _has the audacity to smirk at her.

"GET OUT!"

* * *

That afternoon when Regina returns to her office following lunch, she receives her second visitor of the day. The man stands expectantly at her desk, propped up by his cane and she can't help but snarl at the sight of him. Her secretary had informed her he was waiting, but that didn't stop her from hoping she had imagined their conversation.

She ignores him as she closes the door behind her, rounding the desk to her chair and sitting as she slams her purse down. Rubbing her temple in regret of the question she is about to ask, she sighs before deciding to get it over with. "What do you want, Gold?"

There is a heavy pause, broken only by his sigh as he takes a seat and stares at her across the desk. Facing her current vampire problem, who it seems has actual power beyond money and good business sense; the former powerful, dark sorcerer has taken a backseat in rating of priority for attention. So she glares at him in turn, not in the mood for his silly little mind games, waiting for him to respond rather than dignifying his pitiful attempt at intimidation.

"I simply wondered if you had the pleasure of welcoming our new citizens," he questions calmly after a minute more and she rolls her eyes. "I hear Miss Swan is somewhat of a recluse and seems rather difficult to find in such a small town."

Flipping open the folder she had been working on before lunch, she reads the documents therein with feigned interest as she replies, "I'm sure Miss Swan has more important things to do with her time than chat with the local pawnbroker. She did mention something about owning a number of businesses throughout the state - perhaps she was summoned out of town."

"I hear your son has no trouble communicating with her… in fact, I'm told he is rather taken with her," he says and she has to resist an amused snort.

If she is to believe the blonde's behaviour and attitude towards her son, which she is inclined to, then the feeling is far from mutual. As a mother, it bothers her that this woman denies the attention he seeks from her, but for Gold to try to get under her skin when she is aware of Emma's feelings…

Knowing something he doesn't is entertaining and rather satisfying, truth be told.

"Whether my son is interested in this pawn- who I have no doubt is meant for another of your twisted games -is none of your concern," she dismisses, a grimace painting her features. "Now if you're done fishing for information I don't have, feel free to see yourself out."

She is surprised when the scrape of his chair sounds against the floor as he stands, but the relief she feels when it is followed by the closing of her door overwhelms all else. Her shoulders slump, elbows coming to rest on her desk as she drops her head into the palm of her hands. Either she is getting too old or she has lost the passion for the entertainments of the Enchanted Forest, no longer excited by the prospect of another long, drawn out game involving the Evil Queen and the Dark One.

He has something up his sleeve, specifically connected to Emma and the curse – she knows that much. After all, it was his curse originally and he was the one responsible for making the child of Snow White and Prince Charming the Savior. Whatever she is able to do to keep him from enacting his plans needs to be done, and that means she first needs to warn the blonde who she hopes still maintains her position on breaking it.

With a groan, she straightens her spine and glances over to the clock on the wall. Henry will be out of school in another two hours, and Emma won't rise for at least another four. While she supposes she can talk to Michael, since he most likely knows everything by now, it takes little convincing for her to decide to kill two birds with one stone; wait until nightfall when Henry is asleep and she can spend some time with the blonde.

* * *

Traipsing through the forest, Emma swears she can hear the bones in her arm grinding against one another and she glares at the man beside her. "You dislocated my shoulder, you asshat," she mutters and he snickers, though it sounds like more of a whistle due to the set of his nose.

"Yeah well, you broke my face, you skankish harpy."

"Skankish har-" Emma cuts herself off, freezing mid-step as a scent drifts towards them and she closes her eyes. She breathes it in, a faint smile spreading across her lips and for a second, she forgets the state of her friend and asks, "Smell that?"

Michael scoffs, "You're a lot funnier when you're out in the sun."

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head, sending him a semi-apologetic look before she starts moving again. "Our favourite Mayor has come for a visit," she explains, grinning when he responds with an exaggerated groan.

Emerging from the trees, they see Richard greeting the brunette and as they walk closer, Michael leans in and in a voice, not quite a whisper, he says, "If she upsets you again, Richard can be your punching bag this time; I have aches in places I'm not even sure exist."

Her laughter causes Regina to turn quickly to face them, her gasp audible from a few feet as dark eyes take in the sight of vampire and werewolf, no doubt covered in blood and newly forming bruises that will have faded within hours. Before she can comment, Emma beckons Richard to them and as he nears, she gestures to Michael. "His nose needs to be reset, and you'll have to clean the wound on his back; it will heal, but it is deep and likely to take the longest."

Leaving them to it, she continues forward until she stands in front of the brunette and tilts her head with quiet curiosity. "Ever fixed a dislocated shoulder?" she asks. She's done it herself countless times before, but with everything else hurting, she's more confident in causing further injury than she is of correcting it.

Without word, Regina slips behind her and Emma smiles as she feels the fingers snake their way around her wrist. As soon as she closes her eyes and relaxes, her shoulder begins to throb as Regina applies pressure, easing the arm away from her body and causing the muscles to strain.

The sound of it popping back into place follows a few minutes later and she hisses at the stab of pain, grinding her teeth while she waits for the relief to follow.

"Do I even want to know?" Regina questions, returning to her position in front of the blonde who shakes her head in answer. "You both look as though you're on the verge of…"

Emma chuckles, pries an eye open and grins as she finishes, "Death?"

When brown eyes stare back at her with barely concealed annoyance, Emma chuckles once more before she gestures for the brunette to follow as she leads them into the cabin. "Leave the door and follow me," she murmurs, guiding them towards the lower level where she spends a majority of her time going over bounty lists, the latest demands from the Council and an assortment of business documents.

Regina takes in her surroundings with a slight air of concern, and more than a little interest. Where Emma sleeps has been a passing thought over the weeks they've spent getting to know one another, though one she pushes aside as quickly as possible when it crosses her mind. She's only stepped foot inside the cabin a handful of times since learning of its existence over two decades ago and while she had been aware that its size is substantial despite outward appearances, she had no idea the extent of it until now.

A familiar feeling she hasn't felt since childhood takes hold as they wander the dimly lit hallway, passing by a number of closed doors. She wants to explore the rooms that seem to lack interest for the blonde beyond a mere glance in their direction, to push open their doors and discover what hides behind them. There were four rooms altogether, assuming there is something behind each one and it isn't until the end of the hall that they come to a stop.

Her eyebrow raises when Emma draws a key from her pocket, though the blonde pays her little mind as she unlocks the door and shoves it open, not even bothering to see if Regina is following her before she enters the room and makes her way over to the wardrobe.

A few minutes later, Emma smirks when she exits with a handful of clothes and a strangled sound escapes the back of Regina's throat. Dressed in nothing but the red lingerie she had donned upon waking, she tosses the blood soaked ruins of her previous outfit into a box by the door and drops their replacements onto the bed. "I heal more easily when there isn't fabric sticking to the wounds," she explains, though Regina appears not to hear as she occupies herself with memorising every visible inch of pale flesh.

Emma inhales sharply as sudden warmth emanates against her back upon turning from the brunette and she looks over a shoulder, eyes questioning as Regina takes in the damage marring the skin. Every muscle in Emma's body tenses at the feeling of a hand resting beside the puncture wounds from Michael's teeth along her shoulder.

"What is the point of all this?" Regina wonders aloud and Emma turns to face her again, studying her expression for a moment before she supplies the answer.

"It keeps me in control," she says and elaborates at the curiosity entering the chocolate depths. "Anger is a difficult emotion for me, the line between simple frustration and mindless rage is extremely thin; the simplest way for me to remain in control is to unleash it on someone willing, who can match me in strength – Michael has served that purpose admirably for almost three years now."

Relaxing into the touch as it returns, a finger lightly tracing the edges of marks from both claws and teeth along her ribs, Emma resists the voice telling her to pull away and allows Regina to examine the injuries as they begin to mend before their eyes.

After countless minutes, their gazes meet and Regina asks, "What happens if you lose control?"

Emma smiles apologetically and lifts her shoulders in a helpless shrug as she replies, "You pray that I'm not in your town."


End file.
